


i remember your lips, they're the ones i miss

by orphan_account



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Blindfolds, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, One Night Stands, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, but they are extremely consensual after that, it was gonna be a one night stand but they caught feelings, there is an external factor influencing their first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24383209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Not interested,” he says, quiet and succinct, turning to walk upstairs, still holding his drink. The brunet’s smile widens in amusement, and he hooks his hand in the crook of Jonathan’s elbow. The touch in and of itself is enough to convince him to turn around. One eyebrow is cocked underneath his mask.“Not a hooker,” the man counters easily, propping his chin in the palm of his hand as his eyes run up and down Delirious’s body. “Though I’m more than willing t’ roll with that, if it turns you on.”“I’m not a hooker,” he repeats. “But I need a favour, and I’m willing to do just about anything for it,” he murmurs, accent smooth and husky, smoothing his thumb over Jonathan’s collarbone under his jacket. Jonathan watches, almost entranced, before his hand darts up to grab the offending wrist.
Relationships: Brian Hanby/Jonathan | H2ODelirious
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52





	i remember your lips, they're the ones i miss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uncontrollablesobbing_mp3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncontrollablesobbing_mp3/gifts).



> dedicated to si, who listens to me when I ask for advice and then immediately ignore it. enjoy the porn with feelings!
> 
> reminder: if you are a minor, please do not comment! I won't try to control what you read but it does make me uncomfy to interact with you on an explicit work. thank you!!

Jonathan’s sitting at the furthest end of the bar, where it curves into the corner of the room. It’s shadowy, and his pale mask shines like a beacon, only the white shadow showing from out of the darkness. He’s waiting impatiently, fidgeting with the tab on his soda, and it’s becoming more and more apparent to him that the contact he was supposed to be meeting has bailed, intimidated by him or by another gang. He sighs, feeling irrationally put upon, and lets his gaze wander across the bar. 

He finds an easy game to kill another five minutes, cataloguing the other patrons and the weapons they have stowed, trying to identify makes and models by the bulk under their clothes. Most patrons aren’t law-abiding citizens; the bar serves as a sort of neutral ground, a hub of criminal networking, and reaps only the profits from it.

Heaving another overly aggressive sigh, Jonathan kicks his stool back under the bar and wanders back up the bar, nudging his mask up further, more out of habit than anything. It’s late and he hasn’t gotten a chance to book a room yet, another twinge of annoyance flickering in his chest at the thought that there might not be any left available. The beds available above the bar are relatively cheap and absolutely disgusting, used more often for sexual encounters than actually sleeping, but Jonathan takes what he can get. It’s too late to find a hotel, and too early to prowl the streets aimlessly, especially masked and costumed as he is. As exhausted as he is, he may even get a few hours of sleep.

He pays the bartender, and as he’s accepting his key, jingling into the palm of his hand, a young brunet man slides onto the bar stool next to him. Jonathan observes him from the corners of his eyes, slowly handing the young woman behind the counter a few bills, and notices how the skinny jeans cling obscenely to his ass. He’s posing seductively against the bar, watching Delirious through half-hooded eyes and a mysterious smile drawing its way across his face. Probably a prostitute, Jonathan concludes.

“Not interested,” he says, quiet and succinct, turning to walk upstairs, still holding his drink. The brunet’s smile widens in amusement, and he hooks his hand in the crook of Jonathan’s elbow. The touch in and of itself is enough to convince him to turn around. One eyebrow is cocked underneath his mask.

“Not a hooker,” the man counters easily, propping his chin in the palm of his hand as his eyes run up and down Delirious’s body. “Though I’m more than willing t’ roll with that, if it turns you on.” The smile has slipped down his face slightly, warmth draining out of his eyes.

Jonathan blinks, caught off-guard for the first time in a while. Normally people don’t approach him when he’s dressed like this, though he’s glad he has the mask on to hide the surprise on his face. The brunet leans in, pasting the smile back on his face, and the hand that had been resting on his arm trails down his chest as he pins Jonathan under a dead-serious gaze.

“I’m not a hooker,” he repeats. “But I need a favour, and I’m willing to do just about anything for it,” he murmurs, accent smooth and husky, smoothing his thumb over Jonathan’s collarbone under his jacket. Jonathan watches, almost entranced, before his hand darts up to grab the offending wrist.

“What kind of a favour?” he asks warily, eyeing the other man more carefully. As relaxed as the man is pretending to be, there’s a tension to the man’s shoulders, something in the way his head twitches like he wants to turn around, watch his back. In the way he forces himself to sprawl out across the bar, across Jonathan, muscles locked tight. Jonathan’s eyes narrow, and the Irishman’s hand twitches nervously in his own.

“There may have been a, uh… misunderstanding with the guys over there,” the man says, gesturing over his shoulder with his free hand. He grimaces. “I’m convinced that if I try to leave here alone, or stay for any longer, the rest of my night may not be the most fun."

Jonathan follows the direction the man has pointed to a group of five burly men, glowering and glaring daggers at the brunet by his side. They’re restless, seemingly annoyed. He flicks his gaze back to the man in front of him, dropping his arm abruptly. He hugs it close to his chest, rubbing at the slightly red skin, and Jonathan briefly considered feeling bad before he considered how handsy the man had been.

“I can’t really pay you much, but what I have on me is yours, if you help me,” the brunet is starting to babble, hunching in on himself. He casts a nervous glance over his shoulder and swallows. “… And like I said, anything else is up for negotiation.”

Jonathan eyes him curiously, suspiciously, tilting his head to heighten the effect of his hooded eyes. He watches the man fidget with the hem of his shirt nervously. “Do you know who I am?” he asks, keeping his voice low and dangerous. 

The brunet snorts, straightening a bit to meet his eyes firmly. “You’re Delirious, duh,” he replies, shrugging. “Only an idiot wouldn’t recognise someone of your calibre. Besides, why’d you think I sought you out?”

And the worst part is, Jonathan can see the logic in that. The gang that’s bothering the man obviously recognises him as well, and it’s probably the only reason they haven’t stepped up yet to… do whatever they’ve been planning. Jonathan doesn’t like it, but he’s equally surprised that the guy had landed on him as the best option. That takes balls. He shuffles through his options quickly, before landing on the most obvious one in exasperation. He can’t just throw the kids to the wolves.

“Alright,” he agrees, leaning into the guy’s space. “I’ll let you come upstairs to my room, n- and you can wait them out there.” He pauses, gaze flickering up to stare down the guys eyeing them up over the man’s shoulder. They’re watching the pair carefully, shifting their weight between feet. “Pretend to flirt with me,” he murmurs into the man’s ear.

The brunet giggles, batting his eyelashes at him, and Jonathan can’t help but let a chuckle slip out. He’s leaning in close, lips almost brushing Jonathan’s mask, and Jonathan has to work to stop himself from flinching back like he wants to. There’s a curious glint to the other’s bright, pale eyes, something intelligent, almost catlike.

“Who says I have to pretend, handsome?” he simpers, laughing lightly. Jonathan swallows, throat suddenly dry, and he’s not sure whether it’s more from the man’s wandering hands or the dark look in his eye. His gaze wanders down to the tight jeans immediately — the way they’re stretching is leaving barely anything to the imagination. 

The man catches the flicker of his eyes and a real laugh bubbles out of his mouth. He slips off of his chair and settles between Jonathan’s legs, sliding his hands up Jonathan’s chest. Jonathan’s hands flutter nervously over his sides before he lets them settle on the other’s hips.

“I don’t th- wha- wha do you want me to call you?” Jonathan stumbles over his words, scrambling for anything to say.

The brunet hums, resting his chin on Jonathan’s shoulder, warm breath tickling on his throat. Jonathan’s breath hitches as the other presses closer, and he’s sure that the guy can feel it. Lips graze across his pulse, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick at his skin. Teeth nibble tentatively at the spot, and, panicking, Jonathan grabs onto his head with one hand, gloved fingers threading through dark hair as he holds the other in place. With a final kiss to the hollow of his throat, the young man breaks off, and Jonathan lets his hand drop to the back of his neck instead.

"I’m Brian,” the brunet says, grinning up at him. He bites his bottom lip, and his pupils are starting to blow wide. “I’d kiss you, but, y’know. Mask.”

Jonathan opens and closes his mouth, unsure what he’s supposed to say to that. Abruptly, he stands up, his grip on Brian’s neck the only thing that keeps the other man from stumbling backwards. He leaves a wad of bills on the counter, probably far too much, to pay for his unfinished drink, piercing blue eyes never leaving Brian’s own.

“We- we should take this upstairs,” Jonathan declared, nudging the brunet around the bar and towards the back stairs. Brian laughs, catching ahold of Jonathan’s hand to let himself be dragged along.

They pass the gang on their way, and Jonathan lets his gaze wander over them. Their eyes have clouded over with reluctant rage, fists clenched and jaws grinding. Jonathan straightens, rolling his shoulders back to his full height and glaring the leader down. They stand frozen for several long seconds glowering at each other, and Brian’s fidgeting by his side, eyes flickering nervously between the pair. The leader’s jaw clenches, but finally he nods to Jonathan and turns to leave the bar.

Jonathan nods back. Good. Message received. The boy is his for the night.

At his side, Brian is smirking smugly. Jonathan almost wants to shake him, but he has to admit, the kid’s got guts. Perhaps… too many guts, Jonathan thinks, as Brian unlocks the door to his room and he realises the brunet pick-pocketed him on the way up. He should be annoyed. Instead, he’s just more impressed and maybe… maybe a little turned on.

There’s not much inside the room, just a bed and a nightstand, and a door leading to a bathroom with a shower stall and a toilet. Brian wanders into the room as Jonathan closes and locks the door behind them, pacing into the room to start checking for bugs and escape routes. 

Brian flops onto the bed, grimacing at the plasticy covers, and stretches. The sliver of flesh where the man’s shirt rides up catches Jonathan’s eyes. His jeans ride low on his hips, and Jonathan watches his happy trail vanish into his pants. “You gonna tell me what name I’m supposed to scream while you fuck me into the mattress?” Brian asks, low and amused. Jonathan flicks his gaze back up to his face, taking in his relaxed features. He’s pretty, Jonathan decides, with pale eyes and dark hair swept back from his face. His eyes are shining with mischief. It’s contagious.

“Depends,” Jonathan replies nonchalantly, pulling off his gloves and tossing them onto the night stand. His jacket goes over the back of the sole chair in the room, leaving him only in a loose black t-shirt. He slips out of his boots and takes a seat on the bed next to the lounging brunet. The bed only dips the smallest bit, the too-firm mattress protesting. Good.

“On what?” Brian asks immediately, leaning up on his elbows. He’s grinning with something loose and wild, excited at the prospect of a challenge. Jonathan’s heart is pounding, but the mask is still on, and Brian doesn’t need to know. He smirks breathlessly behind his mask, resting a hand on the other’s hip and sliding his thumb under the edge of his shirt, just over the warmth of his skin.

“Convince me.”

Brian’s eyes narrow, watching Jonathan carefully. His lips quirk up, and he tugs on Jonathan’s t-shirt to drag him down oh the bed. He lets himself be guided down, eyes gleaming in amusement as Brian hooks a leg behind his knee, trying to keep him in place. His clever fingers dance across the collar of Jonathan’s shirt, playing across his chest.

“Challenge accepted,” Brian crows playfully, then leans up to press a kiss to the mask, right over the mouth. Jonathan’s heart is beating like a rabbit’s, blood pumping hot through his veins. Yes, he’s had partners in bed before, but none who knew him as Delirious. None who haven’t seen his face, or treat his mask casually. No one as daring as this clever brunet.

For a moment, he wishes the mask weren’t in the way.

Brian moves to his throat, mouthing along the line of his mask, before licking a stripe down to his collar, and Jonathan is once again repressing the urge to rip the mask off. Instead, he plants one hand next to Brian’s head, holding his weight above the smaller, and threads his other hand through his hair. Brian hums his appreciation against his collarbone, teasing over the skin with his teeth.

Finally, he leans back and grins up at Jonathan, tugging at his shirt. “Off,” he orders gleefully, and Jonathan laughs, sitting up to straddle him. He tugs the shirt up and over his mask, dropping it carelessly onto the floor. Brian watches from under lidded eyes, nostrils flaring.

Jonathan quirks a smile hidden behind his mask, eyes glimmering mischievously. He lets his own hands trail down Brian’s chest, testing the light muscle on his slim figure. His thumbs brush over skin, dipping under the brunet’s own t-shirt, bunching the fabric up slowly. Brian sucks in a panting breath as his fingers circle around his nipples, and Jonathan’s trying to save that thought for later while he gets rid of his shirt.

He settles back down over the brunet, and Brian instantly sets to nipping marks on his shoulder. Jonathan pins his hands down by the wrists and takes a moment just to enjoy the warmth of a body underneath his own, heat already rushing south. Brian’s skin is pale and creamy, and Jonathan lets his gaze linger on the smattering of dark chest hair. He glances back up, catching the brunet’s gaze intently.

“There’s t- two ways we can do this,” Jonathan murmurs, fingers tangling with Brian’s where he has his hands pinned to the bed. “Either I can keep the mask on, and we can go from there…”

“Or?” Brian asks, looking intrigued. Jonathan lets go of his hands, pushing up on one elbow, and he uses the moment immediately, wrapping his arms around Jonathan’s waist. His palms are hot against his back, skin tingling where Brian touches him.

“Or,” Jonathan repeats, one hand trailing up Brian’s side to flick at a nipple and watch his head drop back into the pillows, “we turn out the lights and make sure you ca- you keep ya damn eyes shut.”

Brian leans up to press another string of kisses to the edge of Jonathan’s mask. His lashes flutter over his bright eyes. “You gonna trust me not to peek?” he murmurs against Jonathan’s throat, moving up to just below his ear.

“No,” Jonathan says firmly, pressing Brian back to the mattress by his shoulders. He towers over the brunet, still straddling him, and pulls his switchblade out of his jeans. “No, I don’t fuckin’ trust you,” he reiterates, and he flicks out the blade, caressing Brian’s collarbone with the tip. 

It’s the first time that night where he sees the flicker of fear lurking in the backs of Brian’s eyes, and there’s a cramp of discomfort in Jonathan’s stomach when he notices it. He pulls the knife away, flipping it over his knuckles, but he keeps eye contact, staring down Brian’s bewildered blue eyes.

Jonathan sits up, straddling Brian’s hips as he fumbles for his discarded shirt, dragging it back up onto the bed. He takes the knife to the hemline, trying to estimate how wide the cloth he’ll need should be. Then he cuts a long strip of black fabric, presenting the fraying cloth to a wide-eyed Brian.

“Kinky,” he blurts, then swallows hard. Jonathan hesitates, his face softening under his mask.

“You can- can say stop, and we’ll stop, any- no questions asked. Good?” Jonathan ventures, catching Brian’s eyes and holding them solemnly. The brunet nods, tension leaching out of his shoulders. Good.

“S- so which one? Mask or blindfold?” Brian’s eyes flicker between Jon’s eyes and the strip of cloth in his open hand, fingers reaching out cautiously to brush against the fabric. His eyes are shining in the dim motel light, and there’s something open and fascinated in his expression. 

“Blindfold,” Brian declares firmly.

Jonathan nods at him, pushing the shirt and closed knife to the floor. He holds up the dark fabric, and Brian leans forward in anticipation, lips parted slightly. He inhales sharply as Jonathan ties the blindfold over his eyes, securely but not too tight, and waves his hand in front of Brian’s eyes to reassure himself that Brian can’t make out his face.

He leaves the bed for a moment to turn off the lights, leaving them in darkness except for the streetlight throwing shadows through the heavy curtains over the window. Steeling himself, he blinks hard and takes the mask off, setting the hard plastic down on the nightstand. He scrubs a hand over his lips, removing as much of the leftover grease paint as possible, and lets himself turn back to Brian.

When he returns to bed, he helps Brian shuck off his tight jeans, hands lingering on the swell of his ass appreciatively. Digging through the nightstand drawer, he pulls out a packet of lube, because of course this sleazy bar has lubricant in the nightstands. Brian squirms, hands twitching towards his face occasionally, unfamiliar with the sensation of the fabric on his skin, but he stays quiet.

Jonathan takes the time to brush his fingers over every inch of the other’s skin, tracing delicate patterns down the other’s chest and stomach. Brian’s breath hitches, and Jonathan leans down to press their lips together into their first kiss, fingers curling around the curve of his hips. It’s like a firework goes off when their mouths touch, and Jonathan inhales sharply. The brunet licks his lips when they part, and Jonathan opens his mouth and presses closer, tongue darting out to meet Brian’s.

It’s wet and hot and sends something burning low in his stomach. He wastes no time reclaiming the other’s lips, teeth caressing the sensitive flesh as he licks into Brian’s mouth, exploring, smiling against Brian’s lips when he bites playfully at Jonathan’s tongue. 

Jonathan starts to work his way down Brian’s chest, leaving a trail of kisses and hickeys burning dark in his wake. He worries a final love bite just above his hip bones before turning his full attention to the leaking manhood curving up proudly from dark curls. Using one hand to hold himself up, Jonathan brings his other hand to Brian’s cock, fingers tracing almost curiously up and down the length of it. 

Brian’s thighs tremble around him, and he throws the smaller man an assessing look. Carefully, he lets his fingers trail lower, bypassing his sensitive balls to circle the brunet’s quivering hole. The lube has since warmed on his fingers, and he trails teasingly around the ring of muscles before slowly pushing one finger in. Brian gasps, muscles clenching around the digit as he throws his head back.

Jonathan watches him carefully, looking out for any sign of distress, but Brian’s back is arched, mouth gaping open as he pants, hands twitching and fingers twisted in the sheets.

A second finger is pushed in alongside the first, and Jonathan hooks both digits. His nails scrape just so into Brian’s sweet spot, pulling a long keen from Brian’s throat as he thrusts down in response. Jonathan presses his hand down on his hip, stilling his movement, and Jonathan’s fists clench as he watches Brian’s thighs quiver with the effort of not seeking out more of the heavenly friction.

Opening his fingers up in a scissoring motion, Jonathan pumps his fingers in and out slowly, watching Brian work himself up slowly. He’s lying eager and waiting on the bed, stomach tense as he clenches his fists on the blankets. “Enough, sweetheart?” Jonathan asks, gently, softer in tone than he thinks he’s been in years.

It’s easy, though, to agree to Brian’s desperate “please”, to help him up to kneeling, push his head down to the pillow. He pinches Brian’s pert ass teasingly, just to see him jolt up, and pulls on a condom before he lines himself up with Brian’s hole.

Jonathan slicks himself messily with lube, pushing just the head inside. He can feel Brian clench around him, legs trembling as Jonathan lets him adjust, before he starts thrusting shallowly, deeper with each stroke, and he bottoms out with a heavy grunt. Burying his face between Brian’s shoulders, he kisses down his back tentatively, giving them both a moment to collect themselves. 

“You- you okay?” he murmurs in Brian’s ear.

The brunet nods furiously, whimpering softly. “Come on, goddammit, just move,” he groans, clenching tight around Jonathan’s cock.

Jon stifles a moan, dragging his cock halfway out and thrusting back in hard. Brian makes an appreciative noise, fingers digging hard into the pillow, and Jonathan takes up a languid pace, not wanting to overwhelm him entirely but also not exactly able to hold himself still. The brunet seems to know precisely what buttons to push, and Jonathan lets his fingers dig into his hips, hard enough to leave bruises. A thrill sparks through him at the moan that spills from Brian.

“Faster,” he bites out, gasping.

Encouraged, Jonathan buries himself deep into his ass, panting. He leans forward on his elbow, the other arm wrapping around Brian’s waist to keep him up, pounding hard and fast into the younger, covering his back with his own body. Brian keens, pressing back against him wantonly. “Like that, h- huh?” Jonathan growls, and he can hear his own hips slapping against Brian’s ass and it’s so fucking lewd.

“God, yes,” Brian gasps, breathing heavy and hot. “Keep talking, fuckin- ah!- love your voice-“ He breaks off into a drawn-out moan as Jonathan reaches around to fist his neglected erection, burying his face in the pillow to muffle the sound.

“Lemme h- hear you,” Jonathan whispers thickly, biting at Brian’s shoulder insistently before licking up his neck. Brian cranes his head back, offering him more room to manoeuvre. “Lem- wanna hear how it feels.”

“Good, so fuck- so good,” Brian babbles, hands scrabbling across the sheets for purchase as he pushes back against Jonathan. He grunts, hips stuttering between Jonathan’s fist around his cock and the other’s cock buried deep in him. “Please, please, Delirious, want more-“

“Want you to come for me,” Jonathan commands softly, squeezing Brian’s dick and thumbing over the slit. With a long, keening moan and three or four more thrusts, the brunet follows his order, hot spurts of white striping the sheets underneath them. Jonathan groans, the muscles clenching around his cock a heavenly feeling. He pounds into his tight hole two, three more times, before shouting as his own climax overwhelms him. He buries himself deep into Brian’s ass, hips stuttering as his body seems to shake apart.

He presses his face against Brian’s damp neck, panting harshly as he covers his back with his own body. Brian is breathing heavily too, and Jonathan forces himself to move aside and take his weight off of the smaller man’s body. He flops to the other side of the bed, and is busing himself with tying off the condom when Brian whines pitifully. His face is still obscured by the dark cloth, and he reaches across the bed blindly, hand shaking a bit as he slides his fingers across the sheets. Smiling softly, Jonathan reaches out and grabs his arm, pulling him closer. Brian sighs happily, and Jonathan takes a second to just enjoy the heat of a warm, willing body next to him.

“Thanks,” Brian murmurs eventually, head comfortably nestled in the crook of Jonathan’s shoulder. He can’t help himself — he leans in to nuzzle into Brian’s cheek. He’s cute like this, glowing in post-orgasmic bliss and vulnerable, curled up next to an infamous killer.

“For the sex?” Jonathan says, stumbling through a laugh. “That’s a little- little awkward, huh?”

“Not the sex!” Brian protests, swatting at his chest. Then he pauses, reconsidering. “Well, not just the sex. The sex was great, too. No worries, Delirious, your reputation’s safe.”

“It’s Jonathan,” he corrects absent-mindedly, stroking a gentle hand down his back. 

Brian squirms around to face him, though with the blindfold on, there’s really not much for him to see. “Jonathan,” he says, rolling the name over his tongue. Jonathan’s cock twitches in interest — he never thought that he had a kink for someone calling his name during sex, but the way Brian’s voice sounds, husky from their prior activities, and butchered by his accent-

Jonathan surges forward, cupping Brian’s face as he presses their lips together in a heated kiss.

—

Jonathan has been living with the crew for almost two months before he finally manages to catch Brian alone for the first time. He’s almost positive the Irishman’s been avoiding him, not that either of them ever anticipated seeing the other again, but he can’t figure out why. It might be regret, pure and simple, or just the awkwardness of seeing a one-night stand for the second time. They haven’t talked about it, and whenever Jonathan tries to approach him, one of the other members of the crew is always intercepting him or dragging Brian away. It’s suspicious.

Jonathan can’t bring himself to be regretful, though. He still sometimes gets off to fond memories of that incredible night.

It’s frustrating, too, because he doesn’t just like Brian for the sex, but also because he’s a funny guy. He keeps the day-to-day part of their jobs from being too serious, too monotone, and he laughs at Jonathan’s messy, morbid jokes. He doesn’t seem afraid, either, contrary to Jonathan’s inability to catch him alone; Brian touches his shoulder or arm just as casually he touches any of the others. And during their motorcycle getaway after their last heist, he’d wrapped his arms tight around Jonathan’s waist without any hesitation, pressing close behind him.

His mind had immediately jumped into the gutter. He’d jerked off in the shower that night, thinking about those deceptively strong arms wrapped tightly around him, the motor rumbling between their legs.

Finally, he manages to corner Brian. The younger is sitting bent over his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard, the room only illuminated dimly by the light of the screen. Jonathan pulls the door closed behind him, turning the lock, and Brian looks up at the soft click. He blinks owlishly before rubbing his eyes, but he quirks an exhausted grin in Jonathan’s direction.

“Hey,” he murmurs, stretching his arms over his head and wincing as his back cracks. Looking expectantly at Jonathan, he asks, “Was there something ya needed?”

“We need to talk,” Jonathan replies shortly, almost instantly regretting his gruff tone. Brian shakes his head as though to clear it, and cocks it at Jonathan questioningly.

“Okay?” he says, confusion colouring his words. 

Jonathan pulls up a chair, and sits down close to him. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, and doesn’t stop the accusation from leaking into his voice. He eyes the younger man as he folds his arms, noticing the slump of his shoulders, the exhausted lines carved into his face, dark shadows bruised under his eyes. It’s obvious he’s working too hard and sleeping too little, and Jonathan’s more than a little worried about what he might be trying to prove to this gang.

“What?” Brian asks, as though it’s startling to him. A frown furrows his brow as he wracks his brain. “No? I don’t- at least I don’t think so?”

“This is the first time it’s been- I’ve seen you alone since I joined the crew,” Jonathan points out, and he thinks it’s a reasonable concern. He uncrosses his arms, leans forward as he watches Brian intently. His jaw looks scruffy, and he rubs it absent-mindedly as he meets Jonathan’s eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah, I just need to finish this.” He waves a hand towards the laptop, and all Jonathan can glean from his quick glance is the vague impression of blueprints. He turns back around to stare at Brian inquiringly. The brunet fidgets under his gaze, drawing one leg up to his chest, and hums.

“Hm, I didn’t realise we haven’t really had a moment to ourselves since that night…” Brian trails off, staring into the distance for a minute before his eyes snap back to Jonathan’s squarely. The silence hangs awkwardly between them, and Jonathan shifts awkwardly in his seat. Brian clears his throat. “You, uh… wanna talk about it?”

“I just wanted to, uh, clear things up. It can be… awkward and I don’t want it to come between us and the crew at an inappart- inopportune moment,” Jonathan admits, fumbling for the words. Brian gazes steadily at him, only his lips quirking up at his flub. Jonathan flushes, glad suddenly for the mask and the shadow hiding his face.

A rosy colour rises in Brian’s cheeks. “I don’t want things to be awkward either, but-“ He interrupts himself, looking away, and coughs. “It was. Uh. That night was- absolutely fuckin’ brilliant, so if, uh, there was a chance of a repeat performance- I’m just putting it out there, I mean. I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.”

Carefully, Jonathan stretches out a hand, resting it on Brian’s knee. The brunet immediately stops fidgeting, eyes riveted to the burning spot of contact. Gently, Jonathan strokes his thumb on the inside of Brian’s knee, watches the other man shiver and meet his eyes again. He pushes further up his thigh, then trails his fingers back down the inseam, amusing himself with the flame he can watch spark in Brian’s eyes. The younger holds his breath, swallowing hard, as Jonathan leans back and smirks.

“A repeat performance, huh?” he echoes, chuckling. Brian’s face is flushing bright red. “I think we could arrange something…”

Abruptly, he stands and walks back to the door, letting the lock click loudly as it opens. His hand hovers over the doorknob for a second, and he turns to meet Brian’s unsteady gaze over his shoulder. “Get some rest. Feel free to visit me once this job is over.”

With that, he steps out of the dark room, passing a concerned-looking Brock who hurries inside. Jonathan eavesdrops shamelessly for a moment, chuckling to himself with dark amusement when he realises that it’s not Brian who’s been avoiding him, but the others who are avoiding leaving the pair alone.

—

Brian corners him in the hallway by the end of the week, desperate for some relief in between two heists they’re pulling back-to-back. Grinning wildly, the brunet glances left and right and pulls him into a closet, hands already starting to wander as Jonathan double-checks that the door is locked. There’s not much space in here, and Jonathan bumps into the shelves as Brian plasters himself to his front.

“Brian,” he says, proud of himself for how even his voice is, “what’s goi-“

He presses a finger to the front of Jonathan’s mask, silencing him by proxy. He leans in, and Jonathan watches his eyes drop down before flicking back up to his.

“You said we could pick this back up,” he murmurs, as his fingers start playing with the zipper of Jonathan’s jacket. “I thought I’d take you up on that.” He gets the jacket unzipped fully and splays his palms over Jonathan’s chest.

Brian’s head dips, mouth attaching to Jonathan’s neck as he nibbles and licks at the sensitive spots he can find. Jonathan digs his fingers into his hips, blood rushing low immediately, and memories of their last night float to the surface. Brian is rubbing up against him eagerly, quick fingers already fighting to open his belt buckle.

“We don’t have time-“ Jonathan begins to protest, trying to keep a clear head. It’s rather hard — pun not intended, thank you very much — with a willing and extraordinarily eager brunet suddenly dropped into his lap.

“Then we’ll make it quick,” Brian replies casually, landing another bite onto his shoulder. Looking up at Jonathan through his lowered lashes, he drops to his knees, nearly unbalancing Jon as he sways forward.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it a good one,” he adds wickedly, dragging down his pants a little to free Jonathan’s hardening erection. Brian starts pumping him, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You can return the favour later, after the heist. If you want.”

He looks up at Jonathan from where he’s kneeling, and he can’t look away as the brunet leans forward to lap at his cock, mouthing at the tip. Jon can’t remember the last time he got it up so quickly. Carefully threading his fingers through dark hair, he watches through the slits of the mask as Brian takes in more of his cock. His brow is furrowed in concentration, and for a moment Jonathan wonders about his gag reflex-

Brian swallows around him, and Jonathan swears, head knocking into the shelf behind him. Definitely paying him back, he thinks. Definitely.

—

“Oh no you fucking don’t!” Marcel cries out, vaulting over the back of the couch to chase after Brian, leaving Evan bent over and laughing at their antics. “I’m gonna fucking skin you, Jesus fucking Christ! Get back here, Bri!”

Brian squawks indignantly, sprinting around the corner. His eyes scan down the hallway, searching for an escape route, and his eyes light up as he sees Jonathan lingering by the weapons storage. The room is dark behind him, and Jonathan’s leaning in the doorway with crossed arms, eyes glinting in amusement as he watches Brian barrel down the hallway.

“Hide me!” Brian hisses, shooting past him and swinging back around to dive into the dark corner, hoping that Marcel won’t be able to see him from the door, if Jonathan doesn’t give him away. Or, even if he does notice something’s off, Jonathan’s intimidating presence may dissuade him from revenge for now. His Finn hat is stained beyond repair, so Brian will take what he can get. 

For whatever reason, the others are still absurdly scared of Delirious. Brian can’t wrap his head around it. Jonathan is a giant teddy bear, even if the hockey mask and machete make him look rather dangerous.

“Brian, I swear I’m gonna-“

He can hear Marcel skid to a halt as he abruptly stops shouting. Brian suppresses a giggle, lest he give himself away, and listens to Marcel clear his throat and shift uncomfortably. Brian can just imagine Jonathan staring him down with that blank look.

“Ah- hey, so, uh-“ Marcel stammers, and Brian rolls his eyes. Honestly. “Did you see where Brian went?”

There’s a long moment of silence before Jonathan shifts, pointing down the hallway. “He took the left,” he says tonelessly, and Brian stuffs a fist into his mouth to stop from bursting into laughter.

“Uh, thanks,” Marcel says, stepping back slowly and jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m just gonna- yeah.”

And with that Marcel is scrambling down the hallway, running to catch up with an imaginary Brian. The brunet counts to twenty in his head before he lets himself start laughing, and Jonathan snorts, cheeks rounding out the edges of his mask. He steps up behind Delirious, straining on the tips of his toes to press his mouth to Jonathan’s neck, just behind his ear where his too-long hair curls over the dark strap of his mask.

“That was brilliant,” Brian declares, wrapping his arms around the taller’s waist and burying his face between his shoulder blades. “Thanks, Jon.”

After a moment, Jonathan’s gloved hands come up to cover his own as he leans back into the younger man. “Always,” he chuckles, clearly amused. Brian’s grin widens.

—

The dawn light is fading into the painful bright shine of late morning when Brian pads into the kitchen to pour a cup of the lukewarm coffee still sitting in the pot, made by whoever was up first. He collects his mug, the Terminator head shape staring him down, and shuffles down the hallways to curl himself into the couch. He’s tucked into the oversized bulk of a sweatshirt that only questionably belongs in his closet, and the teddy bear embroidered on the hem tells him it probably doesn’t. 

It’s just edging into late morning, maybe just after ten, but the couch is occupied, Nogla and Scotty sprawled out, vaguely focused on Breath of the Wild running on the television. Brian can’t even be sure who’s playing — they’re both clutching full mugs, looking less than awake and possibly hungover.

Brian slumps onto the sofa next to them, tucking his feet under Nogla’s thighs as he watches the other man pick up the controller again. The other two mumble their hellos, and Brian notices out of the corner of his eye Scotty turning to look at him in greeting-

\- And immediately doing a double take, turning fully to stare at Brian, unabashed delight spreading across his face.

“Brian!” he exclaims, grinning wildly, almost clambering over Nogla’s lap to get closer. The taller Irishman squawks, shoving at Scotty, who ignores him and stares at Brian. “I didn’t know you were getting laid! Why didn’t you tell us, fucker?”

Bewildered, Brian blinks at him. “The fuck are you on about?” he says, slapping at Scotty’s arms when he reaches out.

“Your neck looks wrecked, mate,” Nogla says, the same grin starting to spread across his face.

Brian raises his hands to his neck, running his fingers along the curve of his shoulder. He winces at the obvious bruising he can feel, and the tips of his fingers immediately come away smeared with white, grease paint staining the neck of the sweater.

“Who’ve you been with, man?” Scotty exclaims, still grinning wildly at him. He falls back against the other side of the couch, reclaiming his cup, and kicks his feet back out toward Nogla.

“Delirious,” Brian tells them seriously, tucking his face back into his cup and closing his eyes.

Nogla’s snort has him focusing again, quirking an eyebrow in their direction. “Yeah fucking right you were,” he grumbles, turning away from Brian once he realises they’re not getting any information.

Scotty looks vaguely disappointed at him, but as Brian tucks himself back into his coffee, he catches the grin Delirious sends him from the kitchen.

—

“C’mon,” Brian pleads, flopping onto the couch next to the mad mercenary. “It’s such a lovely soft jacket!”

“No, you can’t have it,” Delirious cuts him off shortly, crossing his arms. The brunet snuggles up to him, head resting on his shoulder as he stares at the hockey mask with wide eyes.

“Pretty please?” he begs, almost crawling into the other’s lap. He probably thinks he’s being sneaky, and Nogla can only snort, knowing exactly how shit-faced the other is. Except for Brock and Delirious, they’ve all been drinking the night away, and even if Brian can hold his liquor as well as he thinks he can, he’s almost assuredly still drunk off his ass. Nogla can only hope the mercenary stays tolerant of the brunet’s drunken whims.

“No,” Delirious responds dispassionately, and a cold shiver runs down Nogla’s spine at the undertone.

“Jonathan,” Brian whines, mouth pulling down into a pout. Nogla stiffens, adrenaline sobering him up quickly. This is bad, he thinks, swaying on his feet. However Brian has gotten his hands on Delirious’s first name — fuckin’ hell, he doesn’t look like a Jonathan — it’s worse that he’s let the killer know it. Their hacker often has trouble with boundaries, whether personal space or private information, but Delirious won’t take kindly to it.

But he just freezes up, staring at the two members of his crew across the table, too drunk to really do more than process it. Brian has grown on him like a fungus, and everyone in the crew knows that he’s got a soft spot for the other Irishman. He likes Delirious well enough too, but he can’t ignore the reputation that precedes him, knows what fates he bestows on those in his way. 

Fucking hell, he really doesn’t seem like a Jonathan of all things.

“C’mon, buddy,” Nogla hastily interrupts before things can get worse, setting his glass down a little too hard as he scrambles up from his seat. Brock looks up from his game, frowning at him, before he surveys the scene, eyebrows rising into his hairline as his eyes land on Brian draped drunkenly over Delirious. Nogla staggers over to them, leaning on the back of the couch.

“Time for bed,” he announces, swiping for the back of Brian’s shirt and missing.

“Nooo,” Brian complains, twisting around in Jonathan’s lap so he’s on the opposite side of the man from Nogla. He looks up with wide eyes, arms wrapping around Jonathan’s shoulders, fingers clenched into the other’s cotton jacket. Immediately he’s distracted by the indents his nails leave, gaze turning toward the bright fabric as he smooths over it.

Delirious chuckles, wrapping an arm around Brian’s waist to steady him. Nogla stares at the pair helplessly.

“It’s fine, Nogla,” the mercenary reassures him, waving his hand lazily. The Irishman wavers, torn between tearing Brian away and his wariness of the other man. Brock watches keenly from across the room, game lying forgotten in his lap. “I’ll make sure he gets to his room later, I don’t mind.”

The brunet in question has taken to playing with the zipper of the jacket, running it up and down over Delirious’s chest. He giggles, burying his face into the fabric of the jacket, and continuing to smile as he nuzzles his nose into his neck. Nogla can only watch, horrified.

Delirious awkwardly pats his shoulder.

Nogla surges forward, barely catching himself on the back of the couch. “No, no, it’s no problem. It’s past his bedtime anyway, I can-“ he babbles, making grabby hands for Brian. Delirious turns to look at him, arching his eyebrows judgmentally. Nogla can’t see it under the mask, but he can feel it. He’s just giving off that kind of air, and Nogla fidgets under his heavy gaze.

“Listen, no offence, but,” Delirious says, pausing significantly. Nogla thinks he should feel insulted, and he hasn't decided whether he does or not. “You’re pretty drunk yourself. I doubt you should try to carry Clingy here.” He nudges Brian, who curls further into Delirious’s side with a low murmur.

Nogla is still reluctant to admit he's right, though. He shoots Brock a helpless look, but the older man just shrugs, clearly amused by the situation. He’s relaxed, one eye back on his game, and while Nogla’s still apprehensive, he’s beginning to feel a bit out of his league.

“Go to bed, Nogla,” Brock says offhandedly, eyes flicking up from his game to the pair on the couch significantly. “We’ll be fine.”

Feeling more drunk for every minute he stands, Nogla decides just to take the reassurance for what it’s worth. Brock’ll keep an eye on the situation, and he likes Brian well enough — considering that everyone else is drunk off their asses, he’s got the best chance against Delirious anyway. Nogla tries to think he’d have a good chance as well, maybe with a moment to prepare-

He stops, shaking his head, and wags his finger at Brian warningly, feeling sixty years his own elder. “Bedtime. Soon,” he mutters walking off into the hall. He’ll deal with the aftermath in the morning.

—

Stumbling backwards, Brian tugs on Jonathan’s jacket as he fastens his lips to the taller man’s neck. Jon fumbles with the door, turning the key until the lock clicks shut with one hand, the other pushing under the hem of Brian’s shirt. The brunet pulls insistently, and Jonathan lets go to shrug his heavy jacket off, watching Brian stagger backwards and slip hastily out of his tee. His legs hit the edge of the bed and he falls back, landing with a soft thump on the sheets.

His eyes are wide, glazed over with lust, and his lips are swollen and red from where Jonathan’s been pressed up against him. The older growls, stalking forward, discarding his own shirt with his eyes fixed solidly on Brian, who shudders, fumbling with his belt. He finally manages to struggle out of his trousers and kicks them off to the side. Jonathan crawls up his body like a predator, and Brian’s heart is beating so hard he thinks it’s going to pound out of his chest.

Piercing blue eyes meet his, the haunting white hockey mask looming over him, and all he can think is fuck.

Brian bucks up, breath hitching as their clothed erections rub together. Jonathan closes his eyes behind the mask and muffles a groan. The brunet laughs lightly, writhing beneath the taller man until Jonathan pins him down with a playful growl. Brian presses their chests together, panting hard against Jonathan’s shoulder, and lets his hands stroke down his powerful back, slipping into the pockets of his jeans and squeezing.

With a curse, Jonathan pushes off of him, unzipping his pants hurriedly, trying to wrestle them off without dislodging Brian, who sits up to suck intently on his neck. The Irishman kisses down and along his collarbone, licking and biting the skin he can reach, doing his best to drive Jonathan to distraction. Finally, the older man shoves him down onto the mattress, jumping up to shed both his pants and underwear in one go before pouncing on Brian.

The younger squeals, high-pitched giggles escaping his mouth as he scrambles out of the way, laughing hysterically as Jonathan catches him around the waist and pulls him back against his chest, growling playfully again. Brian grabs one of Jonathan’s hands and pulls it up, kissing his palms as he rolls his hips down against Jonathan. The other’s moan is muted by the mask, and Brian wants to turn around and kiss him so, so badly. Wrenching free from his lover’s loose hold, he opens the top drawer of the nightstand and rummages through the contents.

With a triumphant noise, Brian pulls out a silky black blindfold, presenting it to Jonathan with a grin. The other man cups his cheek tenderly, thumbing over his cheekbone and making Brian flush pink as a rose petal. He presses close to the other, kissing the hollow in his throat where his pulse flutters. Jonathan takes the blindfold from him gingerly, the other hand burying in his hair as he pulls his mouth away from his neck.

“I wanna kiss you,” Brian mumbles, eyes roving over the mask. He leans back, easily meeting Jonathan’s level, intense gaze for a moment before he closes his eyes, waiting for the familiar touch of cool silk. Fingers trail down the side of his face, and Brian leans into the touch, lips parting in anticipation. Jonathan’s thumb traces over his lower lip for only a second before he pulls away.

“Alright,” he murmurs, helping Brian sit up, sure to keep his eyes firmly closed. As curious as he is about Jonathan’s face — more so than even the other crew members, he’s sure — he respects Jonathan’s need for hard boundaries when it comes to his personal life, even his face. It’s common sense, really, considering the business that they’re in. 

Jonathan is careful as always, smoothing the fabric over his eyes and tying it in the back. “Too tight?”

“Nah.” Brian shakes his head, and listens to the telltale sound of Jonathan pulling his mask off, the soft thud of it hitting the carpet. He sways forward, grins as Jonathan laughs at him before cupping his face with both hands and pulling him into a deep kiss.

It’s easy for him to remember the spark from their first kiss, the same passion and intensity now meshing with the familiarity of kissing a long-term partner. Jonathan kisses him gently, but Brian has been waiting for this the entire night, since he felt the other’s heated gaze on him as he danced with the lads. He nips at Jonathan’s lower lip, then flicks his tongue over the same spot. Jonathan huffs in amusement but humors him, parting his tongue to let his lips in, and Brian climbs blindly into his lap, erection tenting his boxers.

Finally, Jonathan breaks off their kiss, instead moving to mouth along Brian’s jawline as his hands settle on the other’s hips. Brian’s arms wrap around Jonathan, hands wandering restlessly over his shoulders and down his back as Jonathan takes his earlobe between his lips and sucks lightly. Brian gasps wetly, burying his face in Jonathan’s neck as he ruts against the other man. Meeting his thrusts evenly, Jonathan lets his fingers play along the waistband of Brian’s boxers.

“Jonathan,” he whines, squirming insistently in the older man’s lap. His lover chuckles, nuzzling his neck.

“Be p- patient,” he rumbles huskily, and goosebumps spread over Brian’s skin where his warm breath hits.

“I’ve been patient all day!” he protests, nibbling at the skin above Jonathan’s collarbone. He lets his voice drop into a sultry tone mischievously. “I’ve been so good, haven’t I, Jonathan? Such a good boy.”

The grip on his hips tightens for a moment, then Jonathan exhales against his neck, and Brian shivers. His lover hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down swiftly, the fabric catching on his cock, and Brian scrambles to sit up, lifting his hips so Jonathan can slip them down to his knees. It takes a bit of wriggling to get them off entirely, but it’s worth it immediately for the way Jonathan pulls him flush against his chest, their erections brushing. Jonathan’s lips meet his hungrily, and it’s almost as though he’s trying to devour Brian’s mouth.

Jonathan falls back to the mattress, guiding Brian down with him with firm hands, never even breaking the kiss. One hand slides up his back to bury in his hair, and Brian tilts his head to change the angle, deepening the kiss. His hands shift from Jonathan’s shoulders to his biceps, feeling the muscles strain under his fingers. 

They roll onto their sides, and Jonathan sneaks an arm under and around him, pressing distracted kisses to his cheek and mouth. Brian hears the rustle of pillows as Jonathan stretches over him, and he takes the opportunity to buck up against him, moaning into the kiss at the friction. Jonathan growls, pressing close and bearing his weight down on the younger man, essentially pinning him to the bed.

Brian’s breath hitches.

The sound of a cap being unscrewed breaks him from his trance, and Brian swallows as he realises Jonathan has been searching for the lube they left on the bed last night. The wet sound of Jonathan slicking his fingers hits Brian’s ears, and he strains against Jonathan’s weight holding him down, panting harshly. Lips brush against his throat, teeth scraping across his pulse point, and Brian turns his head blindly, hoping to catch the other’s lips.

Jonathan chuckles and rolls them sideways again, free hand trailing cold liquid down his stomach, and Brian grinds his hips up desperately. He squeezes his eyes shut — he can’t see anyway, but the action helps keep him calm for a moment — and then Jonathan’s fingers brush over his dick teasingly, and his eyes snap open involuntarily, gasping loudly as his hips buck up. Jonathan’s lips find his nipple at the same time as he loosely fists Brian’s erection, thumbing up over the head, and Brian throws his head back hard enough for a soft thud to ring through the room.

“You alright?” Jonathan asks, lifting his head from his chest, and Brian whines in dismay.

“I’d be better if you just bloody moved,” he huffs hoarsely, groaning as Jonathan tightens his hold on his cock in response. He can feel his lover crawl back up his body, and then lips are brushing tenderly over his own, and he opens his mouth urgently, licking and nipping passionately at what he can reach. A chuckle vibrates through Jonathan’s chest, and he squeezes Brian’s cock again as he starts stroking slowly. He shifts, and Brian surges after him, afraid he’s moving away again, but Jonathan pulls him close with an arm around his waist, and Brian settles, appeased.

He jumps, thrusting up as he finally realises what Jonathan is up to. The older man aligns their erections and gathers them into his hand, stroking them both languidly, spreading the lube evenly as Brian ruts wantonly up against him. Their foreheads are pressed together, air brushing over his lips as Brian gasps for breath, lips just barely brushing with the movement. Jonathan groans, thrusting into his own fist and up against Brian’s cock.

His strokes grow faster, almost frenzied as they rub against each other, Brian’s hands scrabbling along Jonathan’s chest and shoulders before settling on his back, nails scratching down his spine. The hand at his waist squeezes, and Brian’s breath stutters as his balls grow tight.

“J-Jonathan,” he moans, blindly trying to catch his lips in another kiss but barely managing to bump their noses together. “I- I’m gonna-”

“G-go ahead,” his lover pants, hand flinching around their cocks. He fumbles their hard-won rhythm, rutting against the younger man frantically. “Such a good boy, come on, come for me, come on darling-”

Brian keens, hips bucking desperately as he throws his head back, back arching and nails scrabbling over Jonathan’s skin. Jonathan pumps them once, twice more, and then Brian is gone, a white haze descending over his mind. His lover keeps murmuring encouragement as he helps him through his orgasm. 

Brian flails, falling onto his back, gasping for air, and Jonathan lets go of his oversensitive dick, curling close to rub off against Brian’s thigh. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Wet, warm fluid splashes over his stomach, and he flinches a little in surprise, mind still blank with endorphins and adrenaline. A kiss is pressed to his cheek, to the corners of his eyes, the middle of his forehead, before Jonathan’s lips finally brush against his own. He parts his lips lazily, turning to curl up in Jonathan’s arms as they kiss languidly.

“Fuck, Bri,” Jonathan mumbles as they finally break apart. He lifts a hand to card through the brunet’s hair. “That was…” He trails off, kissing Brian’s nose instead of finishing his sentence.

Humming contently, Brian buries his head under the other’s chin and into his chest. He can smell Jonathan, feel the sweat slicking his skin, feel the chuckle vibrate through his sternum as he pulls Brian closer. He nuzzles into Jonathan’s chest, tangling their legs, and trails kisses over his ribs, above his heart, before turning to press his ear to his chest. The sound of his heartbeat slowly coming down from its race lulls him into a trance as he slumps in Jonathan’s arms.

After a long while, Brian rubs his cheek between Jonathan’s pecs, and lifts a hand to rub at his eye where it itches, slowly blinking away the sex-induced haze. He lifts his head, stretching up to peck a kiss to Jonathan’s mouth again, admiring his plush lips sleepily. His gaze drifts higher to meet clear blue eyes, wide with surprise, and he blinks.

And blinks again.

“Oh, shit,” Brian swears, bolting upright and slapping a hand over his eyes. The other travels over his forehead towards his hair, shaky fingers grasping at the smooth silk that had ridden up. “Shit, fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Brian, what…” Jonathan’s voice trails off, and even without looking Brian can feel his eyes boring into him.

“It was an accident,” Brian babbles nervously. He pulls the blindfold off and thrusts it in Jonathan’s direction, bumping it into his shoulder. The other hand is still firmly in place over his eyes, lest he give in to the temptation to take another look. “It fell off or something, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t think-”

A hand cups his cheek, fingers tracing tenderly along his jaw. Lips brush over his, and Brian slumps into his hands, relief filling him with the idea that Jonathan wasn’t mad at him, or at least not irreparably.

“Hey,” Jonathan mumbles, fingers circling his wrist to pull it away from his eyes. Brian lets him reluctantly, squeezing his eyes shut, and Jonathan leans in to press a kiss to each eyelid before pulling back to nuzzle their noses together.

“You’re okay. I-” Jonathan clears his throat, sounding as nervous as Brian feels. “Just. Open your eyes?”

Brian shakes his head, trying to bypass Jonathan’s head to bury his face in the other’s neck, but Jonathan tightens his grip on his head and holds him steady. Another kiss is brushed across his lips. “C’mon darling, look at me.”

Hesitantly, Brian pries one eye open, then the other. He blinks, clear blue eyes staring steadily into his own. He doesn’t dare break the connection. 

Jonathan smiles softly, bumping their noses together. “It’s okay,” he says reassuringly, sounding much more certain this time around. “I- I’ve been thinking about showing you anyway. It’s been- ‘bout time.”

Gingerly, Brian lifts a hand to Jonathan’s face, pausing and waiting for his nod before trailing his fingers over the other’s cheek. Jonathan closes his eyes and leans into the touch, and Brian can’t stop staring at him, soaking in the side of Delirious that he’s never seen.

Love is blind and all that jazz, but holy shit, Jonathan is hot. All angles, jawline and cheekbones.

Brian grins, leaning in to press their lips together gently. Jonathan’s smile widens, and he pulls Brian back into his arms, one hand carding through his sex-messy hair, the other coming to rest on his waist. Brian closes his eyes, secure in the knowledge that when he opens them again, he’ll be able to look his fill. He sighs, tiredly content, snuggling closer to Jonathan as he drifts off into sleep.

—

“What the fuck was that, Brian?” Marcel shouts, rounding on the Irishman the moment they enter their safehouse, cradling his right arm closely to his chest. Brian hunches down, wrapping his arms around himself. “What the fuck were you doing?”

“I thought-” Brian starts quietly, shrinking away from his team member.

“Great, just keep doing that, then,” Tyler sneers, gesticulating wildly with his empty whiskey glass. “Great fucking thinking, keep that up. You’ll get us all killed one of these days!”

“I-” Brian tries again, sounding small and lost. Evan snorts, stomping into the kitchen in the next room, to make tea or to calm down, Jonathan isn’t sure. Scotty throws everyone a glare, slinking along the edges of the room and vanishing into the shadows upstairs. Brian’s eyes trail after him, and he bites his lip, hard. There’s blood dripping on the steps.

“No, keep going, share your wisdom,” Tyler snarks, upending the rest of the bottle into his glass. Most of it spills with his abrupt movement, and Tyler hisses angrily. “Why don’t you try and think of a way to make this fuckin’ worse, huh? Disaster shit, should never have taken you onto this job if you can’t follow simple fuckin’ orders-”

Jonathan stands up straight, eyes narrowed behind his mask. “Shut the fuck up,” he growls, and Tyler grinds his teeth. “This isn’t the time to point d- damn fingers.”

“Oh, so you don’t mind getting shot then?” Marcel asks mockingly, crossing his arms regardless of them being broken. 

Jonathan rounds on him, eyes flaring with anger. “I wouldn’t have gotten shot if you had been in position,” he snarls, and Marcel takes an involuntary step backwards. He grimaces, but sets his shoulders.

“I would have been if someone-” he glares pointedly in Brian’s direction. “-hadn’t thrown a fucking grenade!”

“Which he wouldn’t have had to if Scotty had him covered like he was supposed to,” Jonathan points out in a tight voice, redirecting his narrowed gaze to Tyler, now chugging whiskey directly out of the bottle. “But he was busy fighting off goons because his getaway didn’t arrive in time. Evan was too busy covering your ass, Tyler, because you were fucking drunk on the job.”

The room falls silent as they face off, glaring each other down. Finally, Tyler lowers the bottle, setting it down on the counter with a thunk. “What’s your point?” he growls, watching Jonathan stiffly. 

“My point is, things go wrong, and we all made mistakes,” Jonathan says scathingly, stalking over to Brian, still hunched over himself, staring with glassy eyes at the floor. “D- don’t fucking pin this on Brian just because you need a scapegoat.”

He slings an arm around Brian’s shoulder, squeezing him to his side and guiding him towards the bathroom, ignoring the rest of the crew. He can feel their eyes lingering on them, but they stay silent as Jonathan leads the brunet away.

Jonathan shoves Brian into the bathroom and locks the door behind them with a sigh, tugging his mask off and letting it drop loosely onto the counter. Brian watches him from the corner of his eyes, and Jonathan quirks a small, comforting smile in his direction. He hobbles to the sink, splashing water onto his face to remove most of his running white face paint. When he towels off, he notices Brian frowning at him.

“You’re hurt,” he points out quietly, waving at his midsection. Jonathan shrugs off his jacket, grimacing, and even with his dark t-shirt hiding the injury, it’s easy to tell that his side is sticky with blood. Brian steps forward, hesitantly reaching his hand out before he drops it, biting his lips. 

Pulling his shirt over his head, Jonathan looks up at him and grins. “Don’t worry, it’s just a- a graze. Help me clean it up?”

Brian nods, carefully dragging the fabric away from the sluggishly bleeding wound. Jonathan winces as he raises his arms, and Brian quickly tugs the shirt away, dropping it in the tub. He grabs the med-kit from under the sink and busies himself with dabbing an alcohol wipe around the wound, cleaning the blood away so he can see the injury properly, and Jonathan holds still, watching the other man fuss over him silently. Finally, as Brian ties the bandage off with sure fingers, he looks up at Jonathan uncertainly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, hands lingering over the bandage, “Marcel’s right, this is my fault. If I’d been more careful-”

“Then I might still have gotten shot,” Jonathan interrupts, cupping his cheek. “It’s a risk we take ev- every job. Fuck, I might get shot in the crossfire of someone else’s crime, wrong place, wrong- wrong time, living in this hell of a city.”

“Still, if I hadn’t- you wouldn’t have- if you hadn’t come to help me out-”

“Then- and what, leave you there to die?” Jonathan slides his fingers into Brian’s hair and fists his hand, holding Brian’s head roughly, tightly. His other arm wraps tightly around Brian’s waist, Brian’s hand settling carefully on his back in turn. Jonathan buries his nose in his dark hair, breathing deeply. He’s shaking, doesn’t even realise how close he was to snapping until his outburst. 

“I can’t lose you, Brian,” he murmurs, and Brian hugs him closer.

—

None of them are good at saying sorry, but the next day Marcel sits down beside Brian and, after an awkward moment of mutual silence, ask if he wants to join him and Scotty and blow some shit up. When they return late that night, Tyler takes the time to cook for them, makes them sit down and eat.

As far as apologies go, it’s pretty damn tasty.

—

They return from a heist on a sweltering hot summer day, sweating like pigs. The air’s been humid for weeks now, and the stink of city and exhaust and garbage is getting to them all. Jonathan is sweating doubly as much, between his heavy blue jacket and the mask covering his face.

Which is why he takes it off as soon as they enter the penthouse, swearing up a storm, and flings the goddamn overheated piece of plastic into the corner, where it lands with a dull thud. The others follow the sound with their eyes, blinking, and one by one realise what it means, rounding on Jonathan with wide, curious eyes.

Only to be met with a grinning second mask, this one of white and red face paint.

Jonathan laughs loudly, supremely amused at their looks of disappointment. Soon, he thinks fondly and grins at his crew.

“Oh, fuck off,” Marcel complains, trudging past him with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Evan sighs, and Tyler shakes his head incredulously.

“Come on, dude, seriously,” Scotty gripes, packing his rifle away thoroughly, detaching the scope and miming chucking it at Jonathan.

Brian snickers at them. “You’re like a bunch of old wives, you’re so hot for gossip,” he laughs, flopping down on the couch inelegantly.

“Shut the fuck up, Brian,” Marcel snaps, cheeks flushing darker in embarrassment. “Like you aren’t fucking curious what he looks like under all that.”

Brian hums thoughtfully, focused more on getting a knot out of his shoelaces than tuning in to the conversation. Jonathan is watching them all with a grin, highly amused from where he’s leaning against the doorway. “I suppose I was,” Brian says absent-mindedly, trying to kick one of his shoes off.

Marcel snorts, dropping the bag of haul onto the kitchen table. “Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles good-naturedly. Brock chuckles, putting on the tea kettle and generally puttering around the kitchen for post-heist celebration. Scotty shakes his head and hoists himself up on the counter, rifle case heavy against his legs, and gives the pair a knowing look.

Tyler stands frozen in the doorway.

“Wait,” he blurts, staring wide-eyed at Brian, “wait, what- was?”

Marcel straightens out of his slump, suddenly alert. Brock stiffens, back turned to them but clearly listening, while Scotty scoffs, grinning brightly. Brian simply blinks at Tyler. There’s a moment of tense silence.

“Uh, yeah?” Brian ventures, clearly confused. “That’s what I said?”

Tyler and Marcel are staring at him unabashedly, their eyes flickering from him to Jonathan, who steps up behind the couch with an eyebrow raised. Brock glances over, tea nearly forgotten. “As in, you’re not curious anymore,” Scotty points out, smirking at them from where he’s seated on the counter.

“Oh,” Brian says, blinking as the confusion clears from his face. He sneaks a glance up at Jonathan, who’s grinning teasingly down at him. “Yeah, he’s actually kind of handsome under all-” He gestures at Jonathan’s face, indicating the missing mask and painted face. “-that.”

“You’ve seen him before?” Marcel sputters, throwing up his hands. “Brian! When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Chuckling, Jonathan crosses his arms, leaning against the back of the couch, and Brian instinctively sways backwards, leaning his head against Jonathan’s folded arms. The others watch, fascinated, as the pieces slowly begin to add up. “Since when have you been dating?” Brock asks.

“Um, I’m not sure, actually,” Brian muses, scratching his chin. “I mean, we were fucking first, before either of us joined the crew, but I guess for a couple months, now?”

“You knew each other before?” Marcel shouts, outraged, tapping his foot impatiently. “Does that mean you’ve known all this time what he looks like? You fuckin- you speculated with us about what he looks like under the mask?” Jonathan gives him an amused grin at that.

“Not exactly,” Brian replies evasively, “there was a blindfold at first, and then, uh-”

“Kinky,” Scotty says drily, at the same time as Tyler squawks, “Blindfold?”

Jonathan kisses Brian’s temple, slipping an arm pointedly around his shoulder and resting his chin on his head. Brian leans back into his chest, humming contentedly, watching the rest of the crew with arched brows. “It’s a sex thing, Tyler,” Jonathan says patiently, then laughs at the other’s constipated expression.

“TMI!” Marcel cries, slapping his hands over his ears. “Okay, guys, what the fuck, TMI!”

“Yeah, so, I guess we- we’ve been dating for a while,” Jonathan continues, wrapping his other arm around Brian. “Sup- up- surprise?”

Brian smiles brightly, taking in his crew- his family, for all intents and purposes, as his boyfriend wraps him in a hug from behind. Evan as Marcel sputters in faux outrage — why didn’t you tell me, Brian? — and Tyler objects loudly as Brock mentions the couch, drily asking whether they should even try and bleach it or just burn it — Scotty laughing his ass off, nearly toppling off the counter-

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m curious to know yall’s thoughts about Delirious’s character here — do you prefer him like this or the goofier character from “smoke in your lungs”? be sure to let me know in a comment!! feedback is my lifeblood


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